


Clear View

by Parhelion



Category: Nero Wolfe - Stout
Genre: Community: picfor1000, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-16
Updated: 2008-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 00:59:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parhelion/pseuds/Parhelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it takes extreme locations to get a clear view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clear View

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sixth picfor1000 writing challenge on LiveJournal.

I've found three places from which you can look up and see sweeping sky on a spring day in Manhattan: Central Park, the top of a skyscraper, and the middle of an empty intersection. I only discovered this third alternative because of the amateur who tried to run me over while I was walking back to the brownstone where I work for Nero Wolfe, New York's smartest and stoutest private investigator.

My would-be murderer failed. But he'd bounced me enough that I got a good chance to see blue above me as I lay stretched out on the asphalt while bystanders discussed if I was going to die. There wasn't enough of a crowd to blot out the view. Mr. Ineffectual Murderer had finished his trip by wrapping his car around a lamppost half a block away, and most of the spectators had hurried over to examine his body. A patrol cop had backed up the rest so I could work on the job of being in pain without rude interruptions.

I'm lucky that I'd made it to the intersection closest to the brownstone before my hit and half a run. I'm even more lucky that Doc Vollmer, who repairs the residents of the brownstone, has his home and office on the same block as Wolfe. When Vollmer put down his bag by me and said, "Don't move," I tried to grin at him. I'd already moved to check if I could feel my arms and legs. Later, I'd be grateful they'd worked, but that one test had been enough twitching for right then.

"Try not to drift off," Doc added as he started working, which was a harder suggestion to follow. I concentrated on studying the sky overhead and not fussing when he checked my eyes before going on to prod at things that hurt.

When Wolfe showed up, he didn't bother with either "Stay still," or "Are you injured," a sure sign of his genius. Instead he began by scowling down at me from point-blank range, blocking my sky. Then he said, "Archie." Somehow that one word was enough.

I wasn't too surprised to see him kneeling so close to me on the pavement, ruining the trousers of his best summer-weight suit. Sure, it takes nothing short of Albert Einstein, a unique _Cattleya_, or voting to get him out of the brownstone, let alone walking most of a block toward a herd of strangers, any of whom might chose to touch him at any second. But replacing me, his leg-man and elephant-prod, would take weeks, even months, of real work. He had reason to be concerned.

"Well?" he asked Vollmer.

"A fractured tibia, abrasions, contusions, and other secondary injuries. The blood is mostly from a split in his scalp which I'm not treating aggressively because I'm worried about his skull and the likelihood of a concussion. But matters could be worse. He must have been dodging when he was hit, so he wasn't bounced off the car's hood, just its fender."

I produced what was meant to be a pleasant noise of agreement. Wolfe told me, "Don't try to speak," and took my left hand. That arm wasn't too bad. He'd been in enough battles to choose the better one.

In the distance, I heard a siren approaching. Wolfe asked Vollmer, "Does he have to go to a hospital?"

"Don't be absurd. Yes, for x-rays and observation, if for no other reason." His tone gentled. "I do understand, Nero. It's true that Archie's a bad patient."

"You may recommend a nurse for the brownstone." Wolfe was getting ahead of himself, but I appreciated his vote of confidence in my survival. If I threw up, which was growing more likely by the second, I vowed to miss him.

"You're anticipating." Vollmer paused for a moment, accepted some scissors from his nurse, and returned to ruining more of what was left of my clothing. "I'll have my secretary call the brownstone with your list when I get a chance."

Wolfe grunted, one of his cryptic ones. He hadn't let go of my hand. His big hand sure felt better than I did. "Archie is stubborn. As always, I trust in his ability to prevail."

"I'm busy. Don't tell me, tell him. For once."

When Wolfe looked down at me, he blocked the sky again. His face was a better sight than the blue, especially his eyes, even though they were brown. "He knows." Vollmer took his turn to grunt.

I was going to say something to Wolfe then, and I waited with interest to hear what the words would be. "Nice day," I managed to get out. "Beautiful view."

"Any day one survives can be said to be fine." Wolfe should know. "Be quiet, now," he added. His hand squeezed mine, his grip firm but gentle and very warm. I did have to throw up soon after that, but I also missed him even though it hurt.

Wolfe insisted on riding along with me, probably betting that an ambulance driver who could run a siren was less risky than some random hired hack. Still, I was impressed enough by his gesture not to quit for the next four months, not even when he was petulant about how many chores I couldn't do with a broken leg. He didn't fire me, either, not until August. After that, we went back to the usual intervals of quitting and firing. He also shook my hand when they let me out of the hospital, and brought Saul along to drive us home.

"Did you get me a good nurse?" I asked Wolfe, already anticipating his answer.

"A male," he said, pleased to have preserved the sanctity of the brownstone.

"Fine." Then I lied. "I take back what I said when injured about the beautiful view."

Wolfe knows me, though. He unwrinkled his cheeks into what serves him for a smile and said, "But, from my perspective, you were correct."

And there we left it.


End file.
